


Body Language

by Goober



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff, Humor, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 09:47:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19226659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goober/pseuds/Goober
Summary: Reluctantly Crowley releases his hold on Aziraphale, whose face is a fun cross between completely stunned and mildly agitated. Which is not exactly what one wants to see on someone’s face after having just kissed them.





	Body Language

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ragtags](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ragtags/gifts).



Crowley tries not to think of the last time he sped to Aziraphale’s shop, a sense of relief rushing over him as he sees that Aziraphale’s pride and joy is indeed not up in flames. The tail end of  _ You’re My Best Friend _ mocks him through his speakers — the tape itself having previously been by one Alice Cooper about fifteen minutes ago — as he slides out of his car.

Dead man with a plan, he strides to the double doors and throws one open without care, startling a young couple and Aziraphale in the process. They’re standing in the middle of the otherwise empty store, and Crowley descends on Aziraphale like a panther, all poise and false control as he crosses the distance between them in spades.

Aziraphale’s brows pull together and he opens his mouth to speak but whatever words were about to come from his pretty mouth are quickly cut off as Crowley grabs him gently by the shoulders and pulls him close, pressing his lips to Aziraphale’s.

Lips that he’s been watching for over 6,000 years. Lips stained with wine and frosting, lips that thinned when he was thinking, lips that feel like a sucker-punch when pulled in a frown. Lips that feel so unbelievably soft against his. Lips warm and inviting, swallowing him whole as the roar of his thoughts quiets into near nothingness.

There’s something almost animalistic in him that wants to keep pressing on, take and demand whatever he wants from those plush lips against his. But he’s too aware of his own skin, the fact that he hasn’t burst into flames.

At least, not in the way he expected. Heat bubbles in his chest as he hears one of their onlookers chuckle, the back of his neck burning as reality settles back in, and so does anxiety.

Fuck.

Reluctantly Crowley releases his hold on Aziraphale, whose face is a fun cross between completely stunned and mildly agitated. Which is not exactly what one wants to see on someone’s face after having just kissed them.

Crowley takes a step back, hands shoved in his pockets to keep them at his sides as he avoids Aziraphale’s eyes. He hears Aziraphale clear his throat and start to speak but the doors to the shop open and it puts the angel in a fluster as he shouts for his leaving patrons, “Do- Do come back again!”

He turns to look at Aziraphale in time to watch his counterpart wave his hand, the blinds pulling on the windows and the ‘Closed’ sign smacking against the pane as the shop closes itself down.

In a flash Aziraphale’s hand is on his arm, grabbing him as he firmly leads Crowley to his office in the eastern part of the bookshop. Crowley’s mentioned that the placement is  _ “A little on the nose don’t you think?” _ in the past, but right now he’s trying not to think of the consequences facing him.

Aziraphale pushes Crowley inside, closing the door behind him despite the fact that they are the only two beings occupying the building. Crowley leans against the desk, not quite looking at Aziraphale as the angel seems to go through seven levels of emotion in the span of a minute.

“What in the He—  _ What _ was that about?”

It would be funnier to watch the angel’s cogs whirl if Crowley didn’t have to give the explanation he was working himself up into. He looks up at Aziraphale, sees the overflow of emotions in those baby blue eyes and sighs.

“I’m on death row, angel.”

The turmoil in Aziraphale seems to simmer down as his face pulls into concern. “What do you mean?”

“I mean Beelzebub and the other Lords aren’t exactly pleased with my involvement in … everything,” Crowley waves his hand a little dismissively. “They’re planning something, something big. And it’s not gonna be good.”

It’s been approximately two days since the Apocalypse-That-Was-Not, and in that time he hasn’t heard anything from Hell. Not a memo, not a sanction, not even a minor hellish inconvenience. Nothing.

Crowley hasn’t been terrified in a long time — the sight of Satan himself rising out of the earth not withstanding — but he’s starting to get more than just  _ concerned _ about the lack of anything.

Aziraphale is quiet as he takes this in, nodding. “Indeed. I don’t imagine my end has anything good to say for me either, currently.” The end note of worry makes Crowley’s emotional hackles raise. “But what does that have to do with … kissing?”

“Well.” For once Crowley doesn’t want to speak, feels the words growing hard and cold on his tongue as he forces them out; “I thought it’d be like touching holy water, doing something like that. Like God wouldn’t allow it from a demon to an angel.”

Aziraphale pulls back a bit, recoiling with an injured expression that Crowley immediately wants to fix. “You would have killed yourself on me?”

Crowley grimaces, “No, angel, I wouldn’t put you through that.” He sighs, runs a hand through his hair, “I think I knew that plan would never work, but I needed an excuse.”

“An excuse for what?”

The hurt is still in those blues, and it’s taking everything in Crowley to remain still as he folds his arms defensively over his chest. “An … excuse to do what I’ve wanted to do for a long time, now. No time like the present, while I still have one.”

Aziraphale is silent for a while, processing. His face struggles to be expressionless but eeks of emotion pop through. His eyes don’t quite meet Crowley’s, falling to his desk before he speaks. “How long?”

His voice is quiet, careful. They’re dancing around something fragile now and if his heart were human it would be slamming in his chest at the way Aziraphale slowly looks back to him.

“A long time, angel.” Crowley echos.

Aziraphale nods, “I see.” He’s quiet for a moment, and just as Crowley is sure he’s ripped a chasm through a 6,000 year old friendship, he speaks again. “I’ve … wanted to do that too.”

“How long?” He asks, too quickly and too readily.

Aziraphale smiles softly, “I think I really, truly knew how I felt when you came to my aid back in 1941.” He looks distant for a second, the memory hitting him. “You were doing your best to get across that church and all I could think was if we made it out of there in one piece I was going to kiss you.”

Crowley remembers that night, still has a burn on the bottom of his right foot from it. He can see why that night meant so much to Aziraphale; the rescue of himself and his books was not a small task, it could have been a lot more devastating to Crowley. The fact he hadn’t burst into flames upon crossing the threshold was a miracle in itself.

But they both know he would have done it anyway, just for Aziraphale.

“Ah, but you didn’t.” Crowley says, tilting his head.

Aziraphale’s smile grows sad. “You’re right, I didn’t.” He steps forward, no longer as caged up as he had been when they first entered the room. “Why didn’t you, for as long as you say you’ve wanted to.” He stands beside Crowley, leaning against the desk without looking at him.

“Angel, I’ve been in love with you since the wheel was invented.” Crowley laughs, hugging his arms harder to his chest. “But I couldn’t risk you getting too involved, getting you in trouble.” He turns his head to face Aziraphale, who meets his eyes. “I’ll be damned again before letting you get hurt.”

“What changed?” Aziraphale asks.

“End of the world, I guess. If it was really going to go I wasn’t going to … let this die with it. Not without saying something.” He gestures with his shoulder to the space between them. “6,000 years is a hell of a slow burn.”

Aziraphale chuckles, “Yes, my dear, it is.”

It’s silent between them, but unlike last time the quiet isn’t suffocating. It’s charged, an energy flitting between them that Crowley is more than willing to let burn. It was a lot, all at once, and he was more than willing to wait to discuss it further with Aziraphale if he needed —

Crowley is torn from his thoughts as Aziraphale reaches out and plucks the sunglasses from his face. He blinks, world no longer shrouded in a black tint, and finds it hard to meet Aziraphale’s gaze without the glass shadowing his emotions.

“Can I do it again?”

The question stuns Crowley for a moment, before he smiles and laughs. “You really don’t need permission, angel.”

That is all the permission Aziraphale seems to need as he places a hand on Crowley’s cheek and leans in, pressing their lips together again.

His lips are just as soft as before, but firmer against Crowley’s. Aziraphale doesn’t hold back as he presses in, cupping Crowley’s cheek as they slowly settle into the feelings of kissing one another. The kisses are light at first, soft pecks that bloom into something deeper, finally exploring.

A heat burns through Crowley’s chest, but it’s not from some divine smiting light. The tightness there is from something else entirely, something he’s felt throughout centuries of being beside Aziraphale.

Crowley runs his tongue over Aziraphale’s bottom lip, making his counterpart open his mouth a little. He slides his tongue over the angel’s, deepening the kiss as he reaches out to pull Aziraphale closer, working a hand into soft blonde hair. Both Aziraphale’s hands frame Crowley’s face as he leans in, knees touching as they crowd over the desk.

They kiss and feel and explore without a care, before Aziraphale pulls back. He doesn’t need to breathe but he’s breathless, small pants escaping his lips. His bottom lip is red and a little swollen, hair out of place from where Crowley has been gripping it.

“Wait, wait—” Aziraphale breathes, “I have a solution.”

“I didn’t realize there was a problem,” Crowley says, running his fingers lightly through Aziraphale’s hair.

“Your trouble in … you know,” Aziraphale coughs, reaching into his coat pocket to pull out a scrap of paper. “I have a solution.”

It’s completely adorable, the way he beams at Crowley. It evaporates the annoyance of having gone from  _ finally _ crossing the divide between them to talking about his possible demise. Crowley smiles a little, “Go on, angel.”

“This is the final prophecy of Agnes Nutter.” He holds it out, “I’ve been trying to decipher what it means and when it will be relevant, but I think I know what she is trying to tell us.” Aziraphale waits until Crowley begins to scan the old text before running into his explanation.

“We’re bound to face some kind trial from our sides, and it is very likely they will try to … eliminate us. But whatever trial they give us we can win by switching up on them.”

Crowley nods quietly, “I highly doubt they’ll just let us take the other’s punishment.”

“Not willingly, no. But if we were to … inhabit the other’s body, we could get away with it.” Aziraphale explains. “Like how I inhabited the fortune teller when my body was discorporated, we could possess each other’s bodies long enough to withstand what they throw at us.”

“That’s—  that could work, actually.” Crowley grins.

Aziraphale smiles against his lips, leaning in again to press them together. “It will work. We’re in this together.” One hand moves from Crowley’s cheek down to his hip, holding him in place as he beams fondly at the demon. “We always have been.”

That fire is back, rippling through him as he leans in and kisses Aziraphale again. “Always will be.”


End file.
